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Serial Stories -- Tumbleweed
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......The gunslinger guided his steed through the main street of the dusty,
one-horse town at a casual saunter. From the grimy shutterless windows
of the store fronts and deserted stables he could sense the curious,
furtive eyes watching his progress. the only sound was the lonesome howl
of the desert wind and, somewhere in the distance, the dissonant sound
of a honky-tonk piano being played by inexperienced hands. He followed
the sound until it brought him to the steps of a dilapidated saloon, the
voices within being the only signs of life in this forsaken shanty-town.
He tied his horse to the hitching post, adjusted his his gunbelts, then
stalked menacingly towards the door. As he swung the bar doors wide and
stepped inside, the piano stopped playing and the room became silent.
All eyes were on the gunslinger, the fearsome looking stranger with the
cold gleam in his eyes. The gunslinger broke the silence.
......"Hallo there! Ghastly weather, eh what? Right ho!" |
Submitted by:
Mark Sieve |
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......"What Luv?" Screeched a Cyclopean hag.
......The Gunslinger stumbled backward unable to answer. A small amount of saliva escaped his parched lips. ......The hag's face crumbled in disgust. Her one remaining eye was fixed on the gunslinger. ......"You def luv? cam an 'ave a drink wi me I'll make you 'ear alright!" ......"ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS MARCHING.." sang the town choir, which provided the Gunslinger with a much needed escape from the Hag. The Gunslinger had not noticed the dusty quartet standing in corner, which were now in full voice bellowing and marching triumphantly on the spot. ......"I say anyone know where I might find a fine gentleman by the name of El Vasquella?" proudly asked the stranger. ......"EL VASQELLA!?" the town's people shouted in anger. ......The gunslinger was grabbed by the throat and fell to the floor, whimpering like a dog. |
Submitted by:
Girl of All Villages |
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......The crowd of dandies and dowdies released the gunslinger. He lay on the floor, gasping, as the owner of the voice moved out of the shadows and approached him. The crowd parted in deference to the man, who clearly carried some authority... perhaps secreted away within his absurd velvet sombrero, or waxed into his handlebar mustache.
......"I... say... old... bean..." sputtered the gunslinger, "You... wouldn't happen... to be..." ......"El Vasquella?" completed the sombrero'd figure, taking a pull on his pipe. "No, Senor, I am not he." ......"But... you... know him?" ......"Do I know El Vasquella?" The man chortled, and his belly shook when he laughed like a bowl full of refried frijoles. "Do I, Pancho Worthington-Smythe, know El Vasquella? Let me tell you my tale."
......Just this very day, on my way to this very cantina, having consumed perhaps one mint julep too many, I, Pancho Worthington-Smythe, was set upon by a fierce bandito. He held me at gunpoint and forced me to surrender all of my earthly possessions, including my clothing. Of course I did not wish to surrender my clothing, but what could I do? He had the gun! So strip I did.
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Submitted by:
Rex Broome |
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......"Well Mr Ppancho is it?.... PPPancho..I'm sure your.. errr... experiences with El Vasquella..were shall I say..how should say..well very extraordinary
under the circumstances...would you permit me to take a seat..I'm feeling rather giddy."
......"Giddy eh? What you need is a good meal and a good woman my friend, Boris " yelled Pancho," pour Mister Gunslinger a Snakefaced shot easy on the face and call Fernanda." ......The gunslinger fumbled in his pocket overcome with nerves after hearing the faecal tale of Pancho. How he wished he were lounging on a veranda north of Cairo with his chums from the fourth Brigadoone guards, fifth infantry. How he missed those heady days of lawn tennis and weak tea. Now through no fault of his own he found himself surrounded by the overbearing, bulging face of Pancho and the prospect of drunkness with a woman who would surely try to take advantage of his good manners and his manly ways. ......A torrid smelling glass was thrust in the gunslingers face amongst much laughter from the herd of foul smelling people who were gathering. ......"I can't drink this I really don't..." ......"You will drink, You will drink and you will enjoy.." shouted Pancho, whose eyes were beginning to become crossed with rage. The gunslinger downed the drink stopping only to remove what looked like a hair from between his front teeth. ......The gunslinger opened his eyes to find his surroundings had completely changed. ......He found himself in a room with what looked like a a huge oil painting. The gunslinger squinted yes it was a portrait, an oil painting. He sat transfixed by the eyes they were the embodiment of hatred she must have been someone very important. Where was he? How did he find himself there? All he knew was that this woman had the same eyes he had seen when Pancho's eyes had crossed with rage. Could this be Fernanda? Just then he noticed a small inscription cloaked with dust "To my darling Gretchen". The gunslinger fell back agasp he knew this woman..... |
Submitted by:
Pumple |
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